Little Wing
by Vashti
Summary: I hadn’t known what a sheltered life I’d led until it was gone. Taken from me. (Remy and OC; incomplete)
1. Little Wing meets Remy

Title: Little Wing  
Author: Vashti  
Disclaimer: not mine. no profit. don't sue?  
Rating: PG  
Chars: Remy, Orig  
Dedication: Paul of the Xavier Institute (NY Academy)  
Author's Notes: this little story grabbed me fairly early Sunday morning and wouldn't let me go till I wrote it down when I got home from church. and here we are. I don't profess to have any great understanding of Remy, or to even have done him justice. I think my muse was going more for a mood. more's the pity. 

Little Wing  
vashti

As wrapped in my thoughts as I am in this blanket, I stare out at the night sky.

I don't mean to be ungrateful, but…I don't know if I belong here. These people are…amazing. I had heard of them, back when the world made sense, but it never occurred to me that I would ever join them. I had had no need.

I hadn't known what a sheltered life I'd led until it was gone. Taken from me. 

Drifting toward the vague form of the long couch in the dark den, I think of the people who had been my family. They had taken me in when I had none. Few things, I have found, are as heartwarming as knowing you are high in the thoughts of someone else. 

I don't know if I have, or am yet willing to, ingrain myself into the psyches of these people.

Sighing, I sit, curling myself into the corner of the couch closest to the window. It's rare that I let myself become so introspective. Reflection does not a happy mutant make. Besides, it's hard to find a moment, or a place, quiet enough to _be_ introspective in the X-Mansion, but the larger part of the X-Men are…elsewhere. I should pay better attention. Some of my friends are on this mission -- people's who's faces and voices trail me into sleep and cohere my waking thoughts.

I miss my "brothers" and "sisters" who would have told me to shut up by now.

I…I just don't know if I can come to love these people the way I loved the people who took me in. I've tried. Before. The X-Men aren't the first group I have run to. The are, however, the first I haven't imagined would replace my loss. Biting my lower lip I realize this is the first time I admit to having run from my problems. Far and fast.

"What be de problem, _cherie_?"

Looking up and back, I see Remy's red-on-black demon eyes glowing out of the darkness. "What are you doing here?" I ask in my equally opposite, accentless voice. "I thought you were with the team."

He lightly leaps over the back of the couch, coming to rest beside me. "Was. Jus' got a moment ago."

Sitting up, I note that he looked no less worse for wear.

He gives me, what I am coming to know, as his classically jaunty smile. "It not be as a hard a fight as de Professor t'ought it would be."

I feel a slow smile spreading across my face. I may not love them the way I loved my family, but my affection knows no bounds. "So no one is hurt?"

"Da Beast's fur be a little singed, but dat's about it."

"Good." I gather my blanket around me and prepare to rise. "I'm sure you are tired, Remy. I shan't hold you."

But Remy has other ideas. He snags one of the trailing ends of my blanket and uses it to pull me back down. I was secure in the arms of man taller than I am by half, and that much stronger. "You gonna use your high talk ta tell Remy what be de matter wit you, Li'l Wing, or you gonna jus' brush dis Cajun off?" 

I don't know if this is to be expected of Remy. I do know that, although his hold is secure it is also loose enough to break from if I so choose. "I have been thinking of my family," I say.

His legs shift beneath me, and I offer to evacuate his lap. "I promise I shan't run away."

His chuckle is muffled by the folds of the blanket between us. "Dey not call you 'Li'l Wing' fer nothin'."

Involuntarily my left hand brushes across the upper portion of my cheek and the mark there.

Remy catches my hand and kisses my fingertips. "Believe me, _cherie_, dis not be de reason. So what be botherin' you so dat you is sittin' here by yourself, in de dark."

"Thinking…about my family."

Behind me Remy sighs. "Dat kinda t'inking needs no explanation. Dey push you away, _chere_?"

I shake my head. "They took me in when no one else wanted me. They loved me when no one had to… I, as well as several others, was regressed from a over-articulate seventeen year old to an almost incoherent, mischievous three year old. Which was when my father adopted me. I had brothers…" My voice fades. "Sisters…"

"Den what be de problem?" It was clear I have confused Remy. I realize that I have confused myself when I open my mouth to explain, to tell him truthfully that, once again, I shall be leaving after less than a years occupation at the X-Mansion, and yet nothing comes out.

Then I do. His large thumb brushing over my fingers -- I had forgotten that he was still holding my hand -- he asks me, "Why you want to be doin' dat? De X-Men not been good to you, _chere_?" From his tone I know that he is not accusing me of ungratefulness, but making an honest inquiry.

"You have all been very good to me," I assure him. "But I…" I what? "I… feel guilty," I admit softly.

Again Remy's soft laughter at my back. "An' what Li'l Wing got to feel guilty 'bout? Far as dis ol' t'ief can tell, you ain't never done anyt'ing to hurt anyone in your whole life. What you do, _chere_, shower feathers on de asthmatic?"

"I have. I hurt all those people that I told you about."

"You ain't live long enough, _Cherie_, I'm sure."

My silence prompts him to bring my fingers to his lips again. "Tell me, _chere_," his soft lips moving over my fingers.

I slip them from his grasp before he can kiss me. "I… My… The man I…" This is harder for me than I ever thought it would be. 

Remy pushes my hair aside, his fingers caressing my ear. "Tell me, _chere_?"

Wondering whether this is an active seduction or simply Remy's way -- and admitting to myself that, like many of the X-men, I don't know him well enough to tell -- I find it within me: "My lover…betrayed me. And my family."

"Killed dem?"

A deep shuddering breath. "Yes."

"An' you ashamed dat you loved dis _homme_?"

"Yes."

" 'Shamed dat you did nothing to stop him?"

"Yes."

" 'Shamed dat dis wicked _homme_ is still alive?"

Once again my silence prompts action: Remy presses his forehead to the back of mine. "What did _chere_ do to this wicked _homme_? Li'l Wing?"

I have been holding myself rigidly upright in Remy's arms, but now I relax into his hold so that his mouth is near my portswine birthmark. Softly, gently: "I tracked him down and killed him."

This time when Remy laughs his breath puffs across my skin. "Remind me not to put de double-cross on you, Wing."

Somehow, without my quite realizing it, my eyes have welled up and a tears slide across my face. They travel left, one slipping up and over the bridge of my nose to join its sister. I imagine they smear the wing-shaped mark on my face, washing away the mysteries of my past and first childhood.

Remy's thumb comes to smooth them away and I imagine that he smears the portswine mark more. He mutters something that sounds like, "Why always me, nuh?" but ignore it.

"I miss them." I push myself off his chest, finally feeling guilty for monopolizing his time. He has just come back from a mission and, no matter how easy he proclaims it to have been, I know he's tired. "I'm sorry, Remy," I murmur, turning to look at him. "I--"

"Ain't nothin' to be sorry for, _cherie_."

"I shouldn't keep you from sleep."

His smile lit up the dark as much as his dark demon eyes. "It shame dis ol' t'ief if he see his bed before he see de sun rise. Unless of course he has a beautiful _femme_ to see it wit'."

I frown at him, but that does not dissuade him in the least.

"_Chere_, not think she is beautiful? An' who told you dat lie, Li'l Wing?"

I think of the portswine mark on my face in the shape of an extended wing. The long flight feathers trail into my hair. "No one has had to tell me anything."

Just as his smile lit up the small space between us, so his frown darkens it. "Li'l Wing…"

I shrug. We sit in silence.

Remy tugs me back against his chest. Right as it feels, I still wonder if this is who Remy is. "How long ago dis wicked _homme_ of yours break your heart and kill de ones you love?"

"Five years."

"An' since you killed him?"

"Three. I thought I had gotten to him within the first six months but he alluded me…"

Remy smooths my hair from my face. My bangs could do with cutting. "An' it still ain't heal?"

I turn to look up at him. Now it is I who has been confused. 

"De hurt he dealt you, it hasn't healed yet, nuh?"

I don't have an answer for him. I don't want to have one. This has spiraled quickly and completely out of my control.

"Five years is a long time to have a broken heart, _cherie_. Remy know somethin' 'bout broken hearts. An' guilt. An' lettin' down de ones you love." Fingers smoothing my hair from my head he says, "Don' run away from de X-Men, Li'l Wing. Your wrong if you t'ink no one here t'ink about you when you leave de room, _chere_, an' not just to undress you wit' dere minds."

I scowl at that.

Chuckling softly he says, "Don't you know one of de prereq's ta bein' an X-Woman is bein' drop dead gorgeous."

"You are incorrigible."

"Dere's no charming a charmer, _chere_."

__

"Remy…"

He kisses my forehead. "I t'ink it be time for _you_ ta be goin' t'bed, _chere_. It just be unfortunate dat dis Cajun's not followin' you there." Gently he pushes me from his lap.

"Thank you for listening to me, Remy."

"_Pshaw_. It's nothing."

Frowning, I say, "I don't know. This feels like…it's maybe different for you."

"You're not a telepath too, hmm _chere_?"

I shake my head, smiling despite myself. I had not thought I'd be able smile tonight.

I'm navigating the shadowy den when his voice comes out of the darkness, saying, "De X-Men love you if you let'em, _cherie_. You give'em a chance an' dey'll take you into dey heart, into dey every thought, an' never let you go. Not even if want'em to."

"I'll try to remember that."

"Don't got to remember, Li'l Wing. It happen whether you want it or not."

How was he to know I was half in love with them, and that was why I was afraid I must go.

"Dey hunt you down, _chere_…" his voice called out again. I turned. The red end of a cigarette glowed in the dark. "De X-Men is funny dat way, huntin' down the ones they love same as the ones they hate."

I went to bed. Remy's demon eyes flashed in the dark behind my eyes as I fell asleep, and I regretted not kissing him when I had a chance.

[in]Fin[ite]


	2. Little Wing comes full circle

Title: Little Wing  
Author: Vashti  
Disclaimer: see chapter 1  
Rating: PG  
Chars: Remy, Jubilee, Archangel, Original Character  
Dedication: to BJ, who wanted to know if there was more.

§§§

Warren, that is Archangel, doesn't like me. The senior X-Men assure me that I am misinterpreting the vagaries of his personality. Jubilee says his pride can't handle another winged mutant at the mansion.

Out of my peripheral vision, I watch as he turns away from me in disgust as I lower my wings back down to my body, thus sending them wherever they go when they're gone. I am inclined to agree with Jubilee. Warren's outward manner is much the same as mine, if louder. I read in him the same signs of disgust I know in myself. "Thanks, Little Wing," he says, only turning to me once my tri-colored wings are out of sight. "I was really looking forward to feather-down in my orange juice."

I open my mouth to apologize but, before I can, Remy comes to my defense: "Don't be like dat, Worthin'ton. You know same as de rest of us that dey jus' pop out when Li'l Wing gets startled. You wanna blame somebody it be best ta put de blame on me."

"They're her wings, Swamp Rat. She ought to know how to use them."

I place my hands on Remy's forearm -- I can feel the tightening of his muscles through the thin silk shirt -- to stop whatever aggressive overture he is about to make. "Warren is right, Remy. They _are_ my wings, and I ought to have better control of their appearance or disappearance."

"It ain't just what Archangel over dere say to you, _cherie_, but how he say it dat get Remy riled."

"Be that as it may," I say quickly, sensing Warren's ire also rising, "it is still true. And I've once again shed feathers and down all over the kitchen."

"I'm sorry, _cherie_," Remy apologizes, turning his considerably attentive charm on me and completely ignoring Warren. "How can Gambit make it up to you?"

"You can let me check your feather-burn to start." Admittedly its not the first time Remy's been slapped by the startled appearance of my tri-colored wings, but since our deep-midnight conversation some months ago he has seemed less inclined to play practical jokes on me.

"What you could do," Warren butts in belligerently, "is clean up these feathers."

Answering before Remy can, I assure him that I shall take care of them: "Make no mistake."

Not placated, Warren stands and dumps his empty plate and still-full glass of orange juice into the sink. "Then you can do the dishes too." He storms out.

"Dat mutant got a stick so far up his--"

_"Remy…"_

He shrugs. "Don't mind him, Li'l Wing. Archangel not de easiest mutant for anyone ta get 'long with. Come, Remy gonna show you dat t'ing--"

"Not before I clean up."

"_Chere_ can clean up later."

"It will only take a moment."

An expressive red eyebrow goes up over his demon eyes. "Feathers are de hardest t'ing to clean up, Li'l Wing. Trust me, I cleaned up enough a yours t'know."

"Stand back please." When he is safely out of the way I open my arms before me as if to invite someone to my embrace. My wings begin to appear, but they do not become things of flesh, feather and bone. They remain, rather, in their transitional state -- wings of golden light. Soon points of light are shining around the room. My errant feathers.

_"Cherie?"_

"Please don't touch me, Remy, if that's what you were planning to do." The light from my errant feathers begin to glow brighter, and I'm grateful that there aren't more of them. I can't lower my arms to shield my eyes. Suddenly they flash blinding bright, then they and my wings are gone. I turn to Remy: "Neat, huh?"

Rubbing his eyes, Remy says, "It something, _cherie_. Where you learn dat particular trick, hmm?"

"By accident. My wings popped accidentally in the lab…I just remember standing there wishing I could call them back. And I did. Now…what was it you wished to show me?"

§§§

Since avenging my family I have become fond of fast things: fast cars, fast bikes. Anything that makes me feel as if I can soar. Even inline skates, with enough speed and will, can give the grounded the illusion of flight. Remy knows this and so the "t'ing" he wishes to show me is the latest motorcycle addition to the lineup at our favorite dealership in the City. For these fancy-folk he wears slacks and a silk shirt. The shirt is, per course, magenta. His accent, too, becomes more cultured -- more French and less French Quarter. On our first excursion, I remember being surprised by this transformation, and the apparent ease with which it was had. This time, however, I do not cock my head to one side.

We have made a few outings together in the months after that fateful night in the den.

I need only cover my wings-as-tattoos, but for me that is a matter of course. In other words, I am ready before he is. As we are about to climb into the car Jubilee dashes outside. "I'm coming with you guys!"

Remy and I exchange a glance. "It's your jaunt," I tell him. "You know Jubilee is my friend."

"Hop in de backseat, Jubes."  
"Aww…can't I have shotgun?" She turns her expressive blue eyes on me. Theirs is a color unmatched in both intensity and emotional manipulation.

"Take it. I'm always mistaken for a child anyway," I say as we switch.

Remy shakes his head as he starts the ignition. Demon eyes meet my dove-grey ones in the mirror. They tell me I am too nice.

Feeling mischievous I remind him that he never asked me how I killed my lover, Riven.

Jubilee twists around in her seat. "You _killed_ somebody, Little Wing? Like, no way!"

"It was revenge, _petite_."

"Yeah, like that makes it more believable," she says, righting herself. "Little Wing here only gets up and arms--"

"Up in arms," I correct.

"Whatever. Like I was saying, you only get PO'd when people start talking politics. Still have a bump from the last time you sprang your wings on me in the middle of an argument. I wasn't even the one who made the stupid comment!" She says, rubbing the back of her head dramatically.

Shrugging I say, "I'm sure you would have deserved it eventually."

"Little Wing!"

"Dat for sure," Remy agrees with a wink.

I am able to contain my laughter until Jubilee starts beating on Remy. "No attackin' de chauffer, _chere_. If Remy run us off de road it gonna be you he blame. Ow!"

§§§

I'm straddling a bike, thinking that the same tattoos I strive to hide have proffered me refuge and respect in more than one biker bar, when Remy softly asks me, "So you take your vengeance, _cherie_? If you still wantin' t'share."

Jubilee wanders over.

"I picked him up," I say slowly, looking at the gauges of the bike, "flew as high as I could go before the air became too thin and let him go."

For a moment they are so perfectly silent behind me that I can hear the dealer, whom we have long since banished, making his pitch across the over-large room.

"But you can't fly!"

"Hush, Jubilee!" Remy quickly reprimanded. "_Mon Dieu_, just tell de world dat mutants are here, nuh? I not get fancied up for dis trip to de City so we could get in a fight."

"But Remy," Jubilee continues, "first she says she killed a guy, then she says she did it by picking him up and droppin' him, like, thirty stories when we all know Little Wing can't fly!" she ended in a hiss.

They both turn to look at me. "That was the last flight I've taken in over three years."

"So its not dat Little Wing _can't_ fly, but dat she _won't_."

Swinging my leg over the bike, I shake my head. "I have tried without luck. And there have been many times when updrafts and thermals that I glide on have failed me, sending me crashing to Earth. If you remind me, I shall show you my scars when we are home."

"Okay, Remy, let's go." Jubilee tugs me off the bike.

That makes me laugh.

Remy treats us to lunch.

§§§

"All right, Little Wing," Jubilee pops her gum. "Proof time."

Setting my purchases near my closet door I ask her where Remy has disappeared to.

"I here, _cherie_," he says, appearing suddenly in the doorway. "Jes took care of de car an' dropped off de coat." As I strip off my own boiled wool coat, a gift from Jean, he asks me if I am sure. When I nod he steps in and closes the door behind himself.

I have already begun to untuck my silk winter-white turtleneck from my grey slacks, but before I can pull it over my head I must take off the faerie dust pendant, a whimsical gift from Jubilee, from around my neck.

"Lemme help you with that, Wing girl."

I lift my hair and Jubilee undoes the sterling and crystal necklace. I take a seat on the edge of my bed and unzip my ankle boots then roll off my trouser socks. To Remy's questioning gaze I say, "I prefer to be barefoot if at all possible," smiling mischievously.

Crossing my forearm, I reach down and lift the hem of the winter-white turtleneck up and over my head. For a moment my birthmark -- an outstretched eagle's wing -- is exposed, but my heavy black hair with its sharp blunt-cut quickly covers it again. My back is now to both Jubilee and Remy but I can sense him physically restrain himself from pulling back the curtain of my hair I hide behind. Fleetingly I wonder if his first two fingers can fit into the two white stripes where the birthmark ends in my hair.

Then I reach behind and unsnap my bra. I catch it in my crossed arms, protecting myself from complete exposure. Jubilee has been closest to me all this time: I feel her weight bring down the bed. "Where are they? I don't see anything."

"Because you rarely see the tattoos."

"Huh?"

Remy comes to her rescue: "What Li'l Wing mean is dat you so in awe of de tattoo-wings you can't see what's dere, plain as de day."

I nod.

"You mind if I touch, _cherie_?"

It's not until I nod again that I feel his weight further bring down the bed. Then his gently calloused hands on my back. "Feel here, Jubilee."

Surprisingly her hands are nearly as rough as his. "You could do with more hand cream, Jubes," I say to break the mounting tension.

"Hey!" _Paf_

"Ow!"

"Jubilation Lee!"

"She started it."

Indeed I have, but now we are all more comfortable. I begin to tell the stories of the memorable scars and some of the not so memorable.

"You're lucky t'get off so easy, _cherie_."

"There are more on my wings. Would you like to—"

"Yes!" from Jubilee.

I feel the bed shift as they begin to rise. "No, stay. I shan't hit you, but don't touch." Leaning forward slightly, I close my eyes and concentrate. Remy's and Jubilee's sharp surprised intake of breath is as much indication that my tri-colored wings are visible as the sudden warmth from their hovering over my back.

"Why Li'l Wing not open dem like dis all de time?"

"It's easier to spring them." Drawing them close so that they lie together like closed hands, I lift my wings between Remy and Jubilee so that my back is completely exposed.

"Now I see the scars." Jubilee's hands are one my back again. "Jeez, that one looks as bad as it felt."

I turn to look at Jubes over my shoulder. "Its got a sister scar on my right wing." Arms still crossed, holding my open bra to my breasts, I stand. "Just one moment." From the top drawer of my bureau I retrieve one of the few shirts I can wear with my wings already out. I explain this as, with my back to them, I put it on. Sitting on the floor this time I stretch my right brown, gold and white wing on the bed behind me.

Unhesitatingly Jubilee starts looking for the sister-scar I've told her of. But her quest is too soft. Too reverent.

"Please my… I mean… My wings…no one touches them and so they're very sensitive."

Jubilee shrugs. "Don't worry. I'll be careful."

I shake my head, trying to find the words to explain what I mean without flushing.

"I don't t'ink dat's what Li'l Wing mean, Jubilee. Like dis, _cherie_?" His hands are my wings are clinical, sure – careful but not fearful.

Sighing I tuck my knees into my body and nod. If I were not so relieved I would find Remy's uncanny intuitiveness a bit eerie.

"Dis de scar you tellin' Jubi about?"

"No. That's from before I can remember. Don't know where I received that one."

He chuckles. "Remy got one like dat."

Before I quite know what is going to happen I am staring at a bare, hairy leg in trouser socks and dress shoes. Remy twists his leg so I can see his calf.

"Hey! I wanna see." Jubilee nearly crushes me and my other wing as she scrambles over top of me. "Whoa. _Wicked_." She traces the perimeter of the shiny, too-smooth flesh. "I have a scar on my hip that looks just like that, except I exactly how I got mine. Promise you won't laugh if I tell you."

"Course we won't laugh, _cherie_."

"Speak for yourself. I can't breathe."

Jubilee jumps off. "Whoops. Sorry 'bout that, Wing Girl. Okay, so, uh…you know how Bobby has this crazy sweet-tooth but hates to share? So last year his favorite hiding place for, like, _ever_ was behind some bust of one of Professor X's ancestors or something in the parlor. I was actually doing a pretty good job of sneaking into his stash using the stepladder from the pantry, but I guess one night I was goin' in there right after Bobby, cause there was a patch of ice right there and the stepladder slipped when I was about halfway up." She lifts her shirt with one hand and pushes down her pants with the other. "Which is how I got this." It looks like someone had taken a cheese-slicer and lifted two inches of rectangular skin from Jubilee's hip. Like Remy's scar, it too is shiny but it is ever so much neater.

I smile up at Jubilee. "I don't have one that looks like that. I don't think." I stand. "We must either take this outdoors or I shall have to close my wings." Jubilee gives me a puzzled look and asks why. "I'm oddly claustrophobic with them open inside," I explain.

"Dat's because de wings be twice as big as Li'l Wing herself."

We share a laugh. "So where to?"

"How 'bout de roof, _mes__ amies_? More private, _oui_?"

Once outside I feel the tension leave my shoulders. Looking up at jewel-blue sky, I realize this is the most social time I've spent with any of he X-Men other than Jubilee. Remy and I have gone looking at cars and bikes before, usually with Logan – who treats me like a child – or Storm, but other than the shop-talk we've had little to say. Lunch would be a quick affair and, once home, I would retreat. Now I'm here on this roof, having been more exposed in three hours than I have been in three years.

A breeze ruffles my feathers, our hair. "God I love being up here," Jubilee says, arms outstretched. She turns to me. "Hey, how about a ride down, Little Wing?"

"Sorry, Jubes. Wind's dying. So unless you want your own set of crash and burn scars…"

Jubilee sucks her finger into her mouth then points it straight in the air. "I can feel a breeze."

"Of a dying wind. Even if it weren't, its not enough to glide on. We'd plummet straight to the ground."

"Dat not sound like much fun, _petite_."

Jubilee made a face. "Tell me about it."

"I don't see why you don't try it."

As one, we turn. Warren is standing behind us. I know something is wrong when Remy maneuvers himself in front of us. Jubilee and I share a look as Remy says, "Try what, _mon__ ami_?"

Shrugging negligently, Warren says, "Why doesn't Little Wing fly the girl down?"

Beside me Jubilee bristles.

"You know I can't fly, Warren," I say, coming out from behind Remy. "And there isn't an updraft to glide on." I bring my wings down over my shoulders, sending them into my skin to emphasize that I will _not_ be using them to exit the roof. I am immediately self-conscious. The open back of my shirt exposes my wings-as-tattoos as I rarely do willingly.

"Why don't you quit with the games."

"If I knew what games you thought I was playing, Warren, I would gladly cease."

He slowly makes his way toward us. "I've been looking into your past, Little Wing—"

"_Mais_ we all got a past_ mon ami_, _n'est-ce__ pas?_" Remy says, trying to pull me behind him once more.

I shake my head, turning toward him, my feather-tattoos to Warren. "Let him talk. What of my past, Warren. I've kept no secrets from the X-Men."

Eyes narrowed he asks me about the half-dozen other groups I've joined and left before coming to the X-Men.

"The Professor knows that I have been unsettled these last three years."

"Does he know about the destruction you've left behind."

Behind me Jubilee gasps. I almost turn. "If by destruction you mean that I have not been known to stick around after hardship, that is true. I've yet to be willing to help anyone rebuild their lives although I have helped defend them. Or if you mean the string of broken friendships, then of that I am guilty too. I admit to leaving without goodbyes. But if there is ought else, then I am clueless."

"You're lying."

"Rarely. And not today."

He's close enough to graze my bare arms with his fingertips. "What about the Enclave."

His words are a physical blow. I know I've stepped backward because I feel Jubilee's hands on my bare back steadying me. Warren presses the advantage, coming closer. "They're all dead and yet somehow you're still here. Even their sole human member is dead. But you know that, especially when you killed him."

"Stop…Please…"

"Did you know that your precious Little Wing is a murderess?" he asks Remy and Jubilee.

"Yeah! He deserved it too!" Jubilee said, coming to my defense.

"She tell you how she killed him?" Though he's talking to them, he's looking at me.

Remy's hand slips unbidden into my mine, tugging me backwards. "Li'l Wing, she tells us." His voice behind me is a soothing balm. "But Remy t'ought de X-Men was in de habit of forgotten de past mistakes of its members."

Warren's eyes in front of me is a firestorm. "But she's not one of us."

Jubilee: "Hey, you're not exactly—"

Warren and I are in the air.

§§§

Remy tells me later that he and Jubilee tried to keep me grounded, but Warren's grip was too strong. _"We tried, _cherie_, Remy swear. But Archangel…"_

"Warren! Put me down! I can't fly!"

But he ignored my cries. He ignores my struggling.

"This isn't going to prove anything." Risking a glance down I see Remy and Jubilee racing for the stairs. They are smaller with every passing moment. "Warren—"

_"Little Wing."_

My struggling suddenly stops. Warren doesn't seem to notice.

_"Little Wing! Put me down!"_

It is happening again, except instead of being the wings of justice I find myself at its mercy. When Riven looked up at me as we spiraled toward Heaven, I wonder if he saw his death as clearly written on my face as I see it written now on Archangel's.

How aptly is he named.

"Why did you do it, Little Wing?" _Why did you do it Riven?_

"Do what, Archangel?" _What have I done, Wing?_

"Kill them." _Kill them…_

"I only killed Riven, Sirus' son." _I didn't kill anyone!_

"Liar!" _Liar!_

With a burst of speed we climb higher. The air is becoming then even for our high capacity lungs.

"You killed my friend!" _You killed my family!_

"They were my family, Warren. Why would I kill them?" _They were my family too, Wing. Why would I kill them?_

"I don't know." _Because, Rive, you're a Friend of Humanity._

"I'm having trouble breathing, Warren." _I can't breath Wing!_

"You killed my friend Maq Corey, Little Wing! I can't forgive that." _You killed my father and your father too, Rive. Your own father! I can't forgive that!_

"Maq was my father! He took me in when no one wanted me. I would have never done anything to hurt him. I _avenged_ him!"_ I don't belong to you mutant scum! I have no family. No…_humanity_ is my family. I was avenging us of your filthy and disgusting stain._

_"And now I'm taking mine."_

I had always thought that my loss of flight was my divine punishment for taking just into my own hands. Falling, I realize that this is my punishment for not being able to protect my adopted family.

As Warren probably expected, my wings appear in a cloud of tri-colored feathers. But I'm still facing him so they come up and around my body, pointing to the sky uselessly. Instinct makes me twist to face the ground but there is no updraft. There's no wind at all. It is all I can do to keep my wings extended, slowing my furious descent. I consider heading for the lake and making my landing there. But from this distance and at this speed the water would be as forgiving as concrete. The X-Men are pouring out of the mansion. Unlike Riven, my death shall have an audience.

In a last desperate attempt to save myself, I wrap myself in my wings. I instantly feel myself plummeting faster. They may keep me from breaking my neck but, if I survive, my inability to fly shall be a physical fact as well as a psychological one.

A wind rises. Too late. With a flier's instinct I know I'm too low going too fast. Storm tries anyway.

My fall is loud in the cocoon of my gold, white and brown wings. Which is why I don't hear Warren behind me until he has me in his strong arms. Remy will later tell me that he went diving after me when it was obvious I couldn't, or wouldn't, fly. He scarcely makes it in time. Both his arms, holding my cocooned body tightly, and backs of my wings brush the lawn.

Then we are safely on the ground. "I'm sorry, Little Wing," Warren says as he lays me on the grass. My wings fall open like flower petals, or so someone will tell me. I won't be able to remember who.

Warren takes my hand and pulls me up on my feet to ascertain that I am all right I suppose, but I don't give him that chance. Instantly I plaster myself to his chest. He stumbles backward. Obviously not the reaction he has expected.

"Little Wing…"

I hardly hear him. I'm trembling all over.

"Little Wing…"

"Please don't make me move."

"I just need you to close your wings. Put them away."

"C-can't." Clutching his shirt in my fists I know I can hardly stand, let alone disappear my wings.

"You have to."

"I…I…"

He hears my voice break and his arms come up around me. His body is suddenly very hot under my cheek. A blush. "Please…please don't cry."

"always the wrong words to a woman threatening tears.

The X-Men are running toward us as Warren tries to calm me. "Little Wing…it's over. Put the wings away." And in a manner reminiscent of my father, he messages the stiffness from my wings still high above my head, until they are malleable enough for him to fold against my back. This is something else I won't remember later but for Jubilee and Remy relating the incident to me. Most of what happens after Warren and I land will be related to me after the fact.

"I t'ink it time you let de _p'tite_ go, _Monsieur_."

"If you can get her grubby little fingers off me, I'd gladly give her up."

Giving him dirty looks and only barely restraining the desire to _paf_ him, Jubilee steps forward to pry me off Warren. "Jeez, she's freezing. _Oomph!_ And a dead wight. A little help here? Anyone?"

"She's in shock," Warren volunteers.

"Yeah, like, tell me something I _don't_ know, Wing Boy."

Remy takes me from Jubilee. "Can you walk, _cherie_?"

Shaking my head no, I say, "I can't stop trembling. I can't…I-I can't…" The tears start again.

Remy scoops me up in his arms, fixing me so that my petite body is cradled in his. He turns to Warren. "Don't t'ink this thing is over, _mon__ ami_." But he will later tell me that he isn't sure if Warren heard him over the chastisement of the other X-men. Storm, as acting leader while Scott, Jean and the Professor were away, was loudest of them all.

Jubilee takes my hand. "It's all right, Little Wing. You're safe now. And don't worry, we'll make sure Warren gets what's coming to him."

"_Petite_."

"Oh come on, Rem, you know it's about time Warren got off his high horse _and_ got the stick out of his pertuttie. It's not like his hands are lily white. Or blue."

"But Li'l don't care 'bout such talk now, _non_? I don't t'ink Li'l Wing t'inkin' 'bout de Archangel at all." For I had slipped into unconsciousness.

(in)Fin(ite)


End file.
